I like being busy There's no surprise in that, It's the only way to survive and make the voices quiet that argue in my head. I like being busy It's the only way I've known, To burry down those feelings That keep on surfacing on their own. I like being busy I enjoy being burnt out Because that's how I muffle the agony from the bleeding cut. I don't want a moment of silence Because that's when The voices in my head are The loudest. They Mourne, they agonize, they miss, They sympathize. And then all I have is this burning feeling which is The darkest.
That workaholic lady who's always on call & keep up with the market cells, That newly married lady with chunky "red bangles" talking to her husband with both earphones and blush on.
That man with a big fat stomach filled with his wife's love; That teen who is on the edge of being deaf because he can't do without the earphones.
That struggler who always stands at the back door; That dreamer who's lost looking outside the window; That person who's scared to get lost so stay active on the maps; That disturbed mind who is coping up listening to George Michael; That overworked soul who can crash anywhere.
That lady who choose to sit and freeze to death under a broken A/C unit, rather than stand with a five kilo backpack in a crowded jungle. That girl who eats like a thief by hiding her food in the bag; That tall enthusiastic freak who swings and does gymnastics in a moving bus.
That granny who spot more trends than teens and follows them; That old man who still can't keep up with the uneven roads and the confused climate of Bombay.
That teen who lives with/on an Ipod, instead of the 90s kids who survived on colouring books; Those kids who believe their job is to fill the voids in the still crowd by surpassing like electrons to the magnetic field.
That man who is inspired by Raju Rastogi from 3 Idiots, chanting to death and can't stop stressing on his responsibilities; That entrepreneur with a head held high and red lipstick, who never believes in a 9 to 5 corporate "mistake",
That blogger who can't think offline and is born to shine on the Gram, That man who switches from Linkedln to South Indian action movie when the masses exit.
Sheets of white piling up on my desk Red alerts with red flags flooding my mail The little ping, ping, ping of incoming messages from various correspondents Demanding my attention
"You should learn to say no; stop doing everything by yourself."
Once, my insides would clench and I'd feel like I'd been Kicked in the shin whenever I see something that reminds me of you But now, search as I might, I can no longer see your face Even down memory lane, you've vanished as suddenly as you did in reality
Other events flow like running water, with the clarity of a clear lake Yet when I try to recall the words you said It was as if a mischievous kid decided to mess with the tap On; off. On... off. On... off. On; off. A buffering in my mind like chopped up notes of a song when a video wouldn't load properly 1991. 9893. 0306. 162. 0341. Numbers are all I remember. How did Your smile look like? How did your voice Sound like?
I stare at the excel sheet I've been populating I stare at the values I've been entering One after another, work requests come One after another, the traces of you go
Harsh unyielding sunset, buries me against the page. I won't be lazing on a couch, left to rot and waste away. Wormy plush Berber carpet soft against the afternoon. Debts are pile high and the company picnic happens this June.
The pages are vellum paper covered in ancient Egyptian script. I love you methodically ever since we met inside that crypt. The carpet brings me solemn hope that one day we can breakthrough. Works calling in on Sunday for some overtime that's now due.
Its a 5 past 4 the glass lays arrhythmic shattered at my feet. We found each other down beside the casket of the diseased. Heartfelt words never came out of a mouth that were so pure. How could you take me interesting, in life I'm just a bore.
Down I've already ruined the letter meant from me to you. Lives not a fairy tale to broker marriage between us two. Blood lettings an aphrodisiac to keep me at the brink. Why'd I write this silly thing when I spilled my drink.
um. written with a friend. This poem is her fault.
He; inexhaustible yet exhausting, Ruthlessly efficient yet demanding, Hard working yet withholding, Barbed Yet deemed necessary. Protecting that which Long ago was made sacred; The heart, the hearth, the home, None may touch that hallowed ground. Defence was needed Safety paramount And then...
The years passed...
This ninja warrior endured Defended Sliced, hacked, diverted, whirled in endless pirouettes Of engaged battles Of mesmerising movement Of unrelenting actions Of no consequence For the mighty goal of protecting That Which Was now all but forgotten.
So effective was his defence Of the thing called 'home' That it was hidden from all view Forgotten Beneath his whirling dexterity of projects and activities.
The years passed...
And there was no home.
Never did the warrior stop to question his task That old old command. He simply obeyed As a warrior should And continue Until his death To protect the property of his master
The result a hollow, busy, lonely life, Punctuated by exhaustion And the question.... "What's missing? "
But so complete was his defense So skillful his guard That none saw what lay beneath. Too mesmerised by his motions to see that He was but a distraction A diversion From the question which would strike such fear into his masters heart "What will happen if I stop?"
Perhaps this will strike a chord with others who work too hard
After a long busy stay From missing her all day I go home to her And she's there, she's always there, Patient, soothing and tender Luring me to bed... As I fight her charms, Trying to stay up; workaholic impulse raging!
I win... For a moment or so
Daring to focus For a couple more hours Desperate not to give in At least not without a fight. She peeks out from our bedroom Sneaking up from behind, As I snooze momentarily But I can't win this fight, there's no use trying!
Accepting defeat, I embrace her Letting her caress me
She entraps me all night I'm lost, against my will I know I'll wake up guilty, Wishing I could send her away But I'm stuck with her for life And she takes so much of my time Time I could use for work But no, she won't let go; not when I always yield!
And no, she's not my wife She's not even my girlfriend Not some girl from across the street Just a nobody, named Sleep!